


Five Gifts of Christmas

by indigo (indigo_angels)



Category: The A-Team (2010), The A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:42:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22001146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigo_angels/pseuds/indigo
Summary: Written for this prompt on the H/F group Christmas prompt-fest (not sure whose prompt it was though, if someone wants to claim it?):Face is a great scammer and can get everyone what they need for Christmas, but what does he want?And – well – it’s not exactly Face scamming but hopefully it’s near enough!
Relationships: Templeton "Faceman" Peck/John "Hannibal" Smith
Comments: 14
Kudos: 19





	Five Gifts of Christmas

Three days before Christmas and Face gently placed his carefully wrapped presents under the little tree in the corner of Hannibal’s main room. Six months after Tuco and here they were, a cautiously new band of brothers, still testing things out, still working out the boundaries – and Face would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that he was, still, far from convinced about it all. It wasn’t like they hadn’t grown on him, quite a lot to be honest, it was more that he’d liked it being just him and Hannibal, had liked it and had hoped that the enforced closeness would have enabled him to encourage something more for them, something better.

It hadn’t though. Two years they’d operated as an elite team of two and in all of that time, Hannibal had only ever seemed to get crabbier with him, expecting more, tolerating less; Face went through life feeling he was a perpetual disappointment to the man who meant more to him than the whole of his life combined. Maybe he played a little on that. In his experience, men like Hannibal liked to be able to predict what they were getting and if he thought that his protege was a bit of a loose cannon and flaky to boot, then why shouldn’t Face give him just that experience? He’d always had a self-destructive streak a mile wide.

So, yeah, the problem wasn’t with BA and Murdock – nope – the problem was with him. Him, and his totally inappropriate, not to mention unrequited, feelings towards the boss.

Presents then. He’d been planning Christmas presents for months, he’d had Hannibal’s since March, BA’s since October and Murdock’s, well, that had been a little harder to source.

March, they’d been in London. Just a few days layover, one of the breaks that Hannibal tried to build into their schedule – this time breaking up a month in Germany with heading back to Benning. Hannibal seemed to know his way around every major city in the world and this time, he took Face to Soho, an eclectic jumble of tiny independent shops and Olde-Worlde versions of multi-nationals like Starbucks. Hannibal had wanted to visit a militaria shop he remembered, whilst Face, spotting a decrepit-looking book shop, saw an opportunity for some serious gift purchasing – Hannibal always loved a decrepit book.

It had been a strange experience from the start. The book shop owner was a typically upper-class English fuss-pot, raising his eyes despairingly at Face’s scruffy combats and his jet-lagged expression. He’d then hovered less than a metre away the entire time that Face was browsing, making snippy remarks about every book he’d picked up. In the end, he’d asked, in a voice that suggested he thought otherwise, whether Face knew what it was he was looking for. He did though, funnily enough. Hannibal loved reading first-hand accounts of historic battles, loved the point of view of the man at the sharp end rather than the grandiose musings of those twenty miles behind enemy lines. He told the fussy book-seller that, told him it was for his boss, and was amazed when his face lit up like a thousand suns, a smile creasing from side to side that totally transformed his demeanour.

“Oh, dear boy,” he gushed, making Face flush a little over the sudden enthusiasm. “How absolutely lovely! What a treasure you are…” Face’s flush deepened and he wondered what he’d actually said. “How about this one? I think this is just the one your young man would adore!”

Wondering how on earth Hannibal had ended up being called his ‘young man’, Face looked at the book being held out to him and smiled. Yes. That would, indeed, be perfect. Face left the shop feeling far lighter and brighter than when he had entered, and, rather bizarrely, with exactly the same number of notes in his wallet as when he’d gone in.

October, and Japan. A street market this time. He and Murdock were biding their time, waiting to meet back up with Hannibal and BA, when he saw it standing on the side of a table of various antiquities, Himitsu-Bako: a secret box. Father Magill had had one of these in his study, and Face had not been allowed to touch it until he’d reached the grand age of ten. It had taken him four more years to open it, and it hadn’t looked half as beautiful and intricate as this one did.

He made up his mind there and then. BA loved a puzzle. His large fingers were surprisingly dextrous, and his mind incredibly enquiring – this was the perfect gift for him. Murdock was across the way, trying to haggle down the guy selling scorpions on sticks, and so Face swooped, paying up and having it wrapped and stowed in his pack long before the pilot came back, clutching his prizes with a manic grin plastered across his face.

December, and Face was starting to worry that he would never be able to get the perfect gift for his new, and rather surprising, best friend. But then he was in good old Atlanta, on a supply-run for the base Christmas party and he saw it standing in the window of TJ Maxx. At first, he almost walked straight past, thinking it cheesy and overly obvious, but then… didn’t that sum Murdock up perfectly? He went in, walked around it twice before he could absolutely imagine Murdock using it, and then found himself wondering how on earth he’d wrap it up.

He did get some strange looks driving into the base with a three-foot silver-plated Hercules on the seat next to him, but he’d had to remove the barbecue tools which swung from the hooks under its wings in order to make it safe for the trip home. That gave him an idea and it was those that he wrapped, leaving the actual bird swooping out in the yard, next to the barbecue drum, knowing it would go unnoticed until the gift -giving had taken place.

He sat back on his heels and smiled at his three, neatly wrapped gifts, before cautiously, guiltily, allowing his eyes to wander over the other presents sitting there. For a moment, he tried to guess, from the wrapping paper and style alone, whose was whose, but then, something struck him, something that twisted at his stomach and set his heart beating hard in his chest in a sad, fatalistic expectation. There were three presents in his pile. Three. One for the boss, one for Murdock and one for BA. All the other piles only held two gifts.

With shaking fingers, Face investigated. Yes, a gift for Murdock and one for BA. The next pile had a gift for Hannibal, and another for Murdock. And the final pile, ah… of course, a neatly wrapped box for BA, and another for the boss.

Sitting back on his haunches, Face felt sick.

___________________

It was a strange couple of days. Face found it hard to be himself around the guys and he knew that they’d noticed. Really though, how had they thought that this would all play out? Had they thought that Face wouldn’t _mind_? He honestly didn’t know what to think.

Christmas Eve morning rolled around, and things got even worse. Face went out for a run, on his own since he hadn’t felt like asking any of the guys to go with him, and got back to an empty house. BA’s SUV had gone from the drive, but Hannibal’s old beater was still there. The house was quiet, Face called up that he was home, but there was no reply. He wandered up the stairs, heart thudding again, wondering if he’d missed some arrangements in his funk over the last couple of days but, honestly, he could think of nothing. He got to Hannibal’s bedroom door and knocked, the door swinging open a little with the pressure, and his heart fell right down into his boots.

There was a case on the bed. Open. Full of clothes. A bottle of Jack and a box of chocolates right on the top. Face stood, staring dumbly for a moment, then he turned around and ran out of the house once more.

______________________

It was a colder than average December day in Atlanta and Face had gone out running in track shorts and a vest; not the best attire for lurking on a bridge over a turgid little creek and wondering how he could have outstayed his welcome with these men and not even noticed.

He’d got sloppy, that much was obvious, and, really, Hannibal’s lack of patience with him should have tipped him off long ago. So – a plan then, he needed a plan. Moving on, obviously. The offices wouldn’t be open again now until after New Year, but he could easily keep himself scarce until then, maybe book into a Red Roof somewhere, keep himself off the grid. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done it before – problem was, he just couldn’t remember it hurting this much… He eyes were blurred as they stared at the slowly moving water beneath him, his limbs were stiff and cold, but nothing was as icy as that empty feeling deep within his chest.

“Face.”

He spun around, mortified to have been caught, wishing he’d hidden better, and it was Hannibal, of course it was Hannibal, holding Face’s down jacket in one hand, his expression cautious and careful and confused all in one.

“I was worried,” Face had been gone just over three hours, “When you didn’t get back from your run.”

Face turned back to the water. “I did get back. Then I went out again.”

He heard Hannibal sigh and come to his side, draping the coat over Face’s shoulders before standing to lean over the barriers himself, sharing Face’s view.

“You saw my bag.”

It wasn’t a question.

Hannibal let out a long breath. “It’s been a funny old year, kid, hasn’t it?”

Face just shrugged and wished he’d worked out earlier that Hannibal had been working up to replacing him all this time.

“But it’s been going okay, yes? With Murdock and BA? It seemed to me that you were getting along great now?”

Face shrugged again. He’d thought so too, but what did he know?

This time, Hannibal’s breath out was a definite sigh and Face’s stomach twisted anxiously; this was it, this was when the boss got it all off his chest, for better of for worse… but who was he trying to kid here? This was worse and no mistake.

“Face,” Hannibal’s voice was soft, Face could feel it ruffling the hair at the side of his head. “Kid… I’m sorry. I am. I just,” another sigh, “I just don’t know what I’m doing wrong here, that’s all.”

Face turned to look at him, incredulity in every line of his expression. Didn’t know what he was doing wrong? Maybe trying to jettison his Lieutenant perhaps?

Hannibal frowned at him, noticing the brightness to his eyes perhaps, and Face watched the cogs turning in his mind, saw the moment they all slid into synch, watched as his eyes opened wider in surprise and then narrowed in anger and disappointment and huh, looked like Face could disappoint without even really trying.

“You thought I was leaving without you.”

Again, it wasn’t a question.

They stood in silence, both sets of blue eyes back on the water, until Hannibal shifted again. Face heard him shuffling through his pockets and then, “Here,” something was prodded into his arm.

Face looked at the folded piece of card for a moment and then straightened up a little so that he could take it in his hand and open it up. His heart started thumping on his chest once more.

“I thought it would do us good,” Hannibal’s voice was soft again. “A few days. Just the two of us. My gift to you. And the guys have pre-booked you a couple of spa treatments. I thought…” another sigh, harsher this time, “I don’t know what I thought, to be honest, kid. Pipe dream, I suppose.”

Face looked at the brochure in his hand. Biltmore Estate. Upmarket. Pricey. Luxurious. Just the two of them. It made his book look pathetic… But more than that, what had Hannibal called it? A pipe dream? _The two of them_?

Face may have his faults, but cowardice could never be said to be one of them. Swapping the brochure into his left hand he reached out and slid his cold fingers in between Hannibal’s warm ones. He kept his eyes on the water though, no point over doing it. “Just the two of us?”

He felt Hannibal nod against him.

“Sounds perfect,” and suddenly, the afternoon was a great deal warmer.


End file.
